


Pleasant Distractions

by ArtofDeduction



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fat Character, Fat fetish, Feeding, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtofDeduction/pseuds/ArtofDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock notices John's appreciation and enjoyment of food, and decides to secretly "help" John in the direction he's already heading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock held a special compartment in his mind for all things relating to John Watson. He naturally observed most peoples habits and deduced their lives at this point in his life, but with most people he disregarded the useless information and deleted it. With John, no matter how much he tried, he seemed incapable of doing so. He not only kept the useless information regarding John, he ended up cataloging and analyzing it, even when the data should have no bearing on anything.  


Such had been the case with John’s weight gain. When they first moved in together, John had been rather thin, though he had been hiding it well behind his baggy jumpers. That had changed since, with John gaining about a pound a week in weight. It was a steady gain, which Sherlock attributed to John’s body reacting to civilian life. Sherlock had taken note of this change of weight in his friend, but did not obsess over it at that point. It had not become a dominant thought in his mind till a few weeks ago.  


Unlike Sherlock, who thought of food as a chore and an unwanted distraction, John seemed to enjoy every meal he was given. When not interrupted by a chase in the middle, John would often polish his plate clean. Sherlock attributed this in part to an appreciation, gained after the rations of his army days.  


Sherlock and John went out to eat a lot, as bachelors often do. Only John ever cooked, and he didn’t feel like doing it all the time. As a side effect of Sherlock’s work, he was indebted to by Angelo and other restaurants, who felt it was their duty to repay Sherlock with discounts and free meals. It was not as good an advantage as useful information, such as provided by the homeless network, but Sherlock took what he got. Or rather, John, who consumed the majority of these meals did. Until recently this consumption hadn’t drastically effected John, most likely because it was counteracted by the exorcise he got from running around with Sherlock. This had changed with their last case.  


The case had been an unusual one for them in that it didn’t require a lot of legwork. They had to go to a lot of restaurants, doing a lot of sitting down and watching the wait staff. It was a chain of restaurants in which the underpaid workers were planning, as Sherlock eventually discoved, a mutiny against the corporation who had recently purchased the chain. The time on the case was spent going restaurant to restaurant, sometimes more than three times a day. Obviously, someone was going to have to order something.  


Despite the underlying dilemma with the workers, the food of the chain was perfectly fine. As cover, John would end up ordering a meal while Sherlock sipped at a drink. While John didn’t eat with as much abandon after the first few days, he was still consuming a lot of the calorie-ridden food.  


In favor of keeping his mind clear, Sherlock hardly ate anything at the many restaurants they visited. John made clear to Sherlock that he thought this was ridiculous. Here he was, spending most of his days surrounded by food, and he wouldn’t eat anything? Sherlock reluctantly ate some of John’s dishes to appease him, but watched with far more interest as John finished the rest of his plate. The shorter man had a look of contentment on his face, totally focusing on the plate of food in front of him.  


After John had finished a rich fettuccini alfredo, one he insisted Sherlock try, he had leaned back in his seat, a hand patting his protruding belly. “That was great. This place better still exist after we solve this case”, John praised. “Oh, it will.”, Sherlock had replied absently, eyes drifting to the doctor’s tummy.  


Once the case was over, Sherlock allowed his thoughts to drift to John more. He had noticed that John’s formerly baggy jumpers were getting tighter lately, showing more of a bulkier form underneath. This made Sherlock inexplicably apprehensive. How much weight had John gained in the last few weeks? He couldn’t tell with the accuracy he determined Molly’s weight gain because of clothing choice, but it had to be around eight to ten pounds.  


When Sherlock saw John get out of the shower, towel only covering the lower half of his body, Sherlock finally got a firsthand look at John’s new figure. The view gave him the information he needed to determine John’s gain. He had gained nine pounds in the span of just two weeks. He wasn’t what Sherlock would consider fat yet, but he was on his way to getting there. There was softness to his body that wasn’t there before, and a bit of a belly poking out from under the towel. Warmth seemed to radiate inside Sherlock. Sherlock thought the chub suited him very well. Very well indeed.  


Sherlock sat in his armchair, trying to ponder over some old cold cases. Instead, all that was popping in his mind were visions of John’s growing belly. He wondered how John would look with even more weight on him. Weight distributed differently on everybody, and seemed to be distributing very pleasantly on John’s form. Sherlock relished the thought of a rounder John, eating each huge meal with gusto and gaining five pounds a week. At least. The thought gave him a bit of an erection. This wasn’t a logical train of thought at all, but Sherlock reasoned that John did love to eat, and apart from this being very visually pleasing to him, Sherlock wanted to make him feel good. John would probably go on to exercise and lose the weight he had gained if he didn’t interfere, but if he did, Sherlock knew he could make the opposite occur. But he couldn’t, could he? Even he knew this emerging idea was all kinds of not good.  


John emerged from his bedroom fully clothed, hair still slightly wet from the shower. He yawned, pulling his shirt up a little to scratch himself. Sherlock glimpsed at what had to be love handles. Love handles that could get bigger. What little conscience Sherlock had slipped away in an instant, replaced by determination. He clasped his hands under his chin and began to formulate a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock initiated his plan the next day. There was no interesting case to keep him busy, so putting his plan into action was a welcome distraction from the dull ache of an idle mind. John had left for his job at the surgery in the morning, so Sherlock was free to work without threat of detection.

He began by rummaging through John’s closet, inspecting his shirts and trousers. One by one, he let the waistband of John’s trousers out, letting the ones that were getting especially tight on the doctor out more than the others. He did what he could to Stretch John’s jumpers. John’s particularly close fitting buttoned shirts, which would reveal Sherlock’s cause would have to be disposed of or “accidentally” shrunk in the wash. If he did this over a reasonable enough time frame, he knew John would never notice. As much as Sherlock had tried to coach him, John’s observational skills had not greatly improved. As had happened before though, John’s less than luminous faculties would work in Sherlock’s favor. 

With phase one of Sherlock’s plan complete, Sherlock grabbed his coat to initiate part two.

John returned in the middle of the night, clearly worn out. He sighed, removing his coat before collapsing into his armchair. “Sara was not pleased about the time I spent helping you with that case. I had to cover for two people today, Sherlock. Two.”, John complained, banging his forearms on the arms of the chair. 

Sherlock laid the magazine he was reading on the floor and turned to focus on John. “That’s not it. Not completely”, Sherlock began. “She would not have hired you in the first place if she had a real issue with your erratic schedule. Your qualifications make up for that. Sara was much more lenient when you were dating, or she thought she had a chance with you. She’s bitter now. Wait till she gets over it or finds another potential mate.” 

“She was the one who broke up with me.”, John groaned. He was so used to Sherlock’s ways by now that being referred to as a potential mate as if he was a reject in an animal mating ritual didn’t even phase him. Sherlock found it satisfying that John was evidently more effected by the trouble Sara was giving him at work than the fact of them splitting up. 

John’s stomach rumbled. “I didn’t even get a chance to grab more than a bite to eat with all my patients. Is it too much to ask that we have anything here? I didn’t bother to go shopping during the case.”

“I got milk, and we have lasagna and some cookies from Mrs. Hudson.”

“Great, that sounds good- wait say that first part again.”

“You heard me quite clearly.”

“You got the milk, you never get the milk…”, said John with disbelief, while Sherlock nonchalantly shrugged. John opened the fridge to check, and turned back to Sherlock to smirk. “You did get the milk, and put it no where near the severed foot too! Good job! Though, if you ever find yourself motivated to go shopping again, I take part skim, not whole milk.”

“Oh, just shut up and eat. Your hunger is making you difficult”,

“Says the most difficult man himself.” John replied with a roll of his eyes. John complied with the suggestion anyway, and took the tray of lasagna out of the fridge. He cut himself a generous portion of lasagna and heated it in the microwave, proceeding to set his plate down on the table with a glass of milk beside it. 

Sherlock had no trouble procuring the lasagna from Mrs. Hudson, who without further suggestion also provided the cookies. Food cooked by Mrs. Hudson was normally quite hearty and fattening, so Sherlock did not need to do anything to it. With the already full fat milk however, Sherlock had added some sugar and protein powder. He was working on developing a more unnoticeable formula to slip into John’s meals, but for now this would have to do.

Sherlock sat across from John, lovingly watching him eat. John was obviously very hungry, and gobbled up his piece of Lasagna in record time, soon starting on a second. He had to refill his glass of milk twice. His attention was not on Sherlock, but fully enamored by quickly dwindling lasagna in front of him. Watching him vigorously engulf his food was possibly even better than watching him eat with his usual slow, savoring contentment. 

When the plate of cookies came out, Sherlock had one himself, while John had three. They were small, but very buttery and delicious. John rose from the table, and Sherlock noticed that his already more prominent belly was distended, sticking out past his belt. John was not going to make this process difficult.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock continued his plan, and it was working beautifully. He would continue adding “supplements” to John’s food, and make some nice comment about Mrs. Hudson’s cooking, influencing her to make them more goodies for John’s consumption. He didn’t even have to bother learning to cook himself.

Instead of just suggesting dinner at a restaurant when they were on stakeout or at the end of the case, Sherlock suggested stopping for food when it was not strictly necessary as well. He knew John had sometimes skipped meals to keep up with him, but Sherlock was no longer letting that happen. He would “thoughtfully” suggest John stop for some Takeaway, or get something together at a nearby restaurant. He found he didn’t mind taking time during a case to sit with John as he ate. Watching John shovel high calorie food into his mouth not only pleased him but sometimes triggered leaps of deduction. Some distractions had the strange way of helping the mind find what it was looking for.

John probably thought these meals were the result of Sherlock actually trying to be considerate for a change. In a way Sherlock reasoned he was. He was making sure John was never hungry while accompanying him on his cases, and that John’s meals were as delicious as they could be. Sherlock did know the best restaurants in London after all, as well as the ones with the most fattening, delectable dishes. John rarely said no, especially when there was no time for him to cook. 

Sherlock had been accepting a lot of cases lately, even ones that were normally beneath his level of challenge. He would drag them out, just a little bit, not so much as Sherlock’s genius would be questioned, but enough so that between his job at the surgery and helping Sherlock, John had little time to himself. John didn’t have the time to make himself healthy meals, or reflect over the increasing girth of his waist.

John was definitely growing. His belly, once only a bit curved was blossoming into a full blown gut, grazing his lap when seated. Just as predicted, his love handles were becoming luscious and wonderful. Sherlock was very pleased at the doctor’s progress. His ass was plumping up as well, and Sherlock longed to grab it, kneading the fat. He could see its shape oh so clearly through Johns jeans. It had gotten to the point where Johns clothes, which had been carefully altered by Sherlock, and in some cases replaced, were almost on the last strand of their life. Sherlock had thought John would have noticed how heavy he was getting and at least tried to lose the weight by now, but he wasn’t complaining that this wasn’t occurring. John continued to diligently fill out, either in genuine ignorance or acceptance of his state. Either way, Sherlock was pleased to be getting what he wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

John sucked his belly in yet again in order to button his closely fitting trousers around his hips. They had been getting tighter as of late, leaving red imprints on his skin. They did not have a scale in the flat but John was aware that he must have put on a few pounds. As he used to be a buff soldier, John knew he should be working to mend that. He hollowly resolved to eat healthier or at least make some time for a run.

John was not generally a weak willed person, but for some reason dealing with his weight was becoming an exception. Sherlock had been being increasingly thoughtful lately. Sherlock, who used to leave a crime scene without him, momentarily forgetting his existence in the wake of a far more interesting case, had been thinking of his needs. 

Just yesterday they were in the midst of a crime scene, a murder of Sherlock’s fancy. Sherlock was crouching over the blood-covered cement in his usual peculiar fashion when John’s stomach gave a low rumble. It wasn’t embarrassingly loud so John didn’t think anyone would hear. He was wrong.

Sherlock had wrapped up his deduction about what the blood splatter pattern on the ground must obviously mean quickly, and tugged John to a nearby takeaway joint. “Eat enough so that you won’t be hungry later. We will be a while.”, he had ordered, gesturing to an item he had apparently deduced John would enjoy. Sherlock had sat with John, clasping his hands under his chin while John ate.  
This was not a onetime occurrence. Lately Sherlock had been paying attention to John’s normal human need for more than one meal a day, and actually was the one suggesting they stop to eat somewhere whenever he noticed John was hungry during a case. He would bring John to great restaurants and takeaway places, and John would eat while Sherlock ran a case through his mind. How Sherlock knew of all these great places to eat when he rarely seemed to eat himself was beyond John.

John had always enjoyed the post-case dinners they had together. Sherlock would be in a rare good mood on the high of solving a case and not yet aggravated and hungry for the fix of another. He would be hungry for food though, and eat a reasonable amount. Sherlock would be radiant in his brilliance, cocky in his victory, and yet still vulnerable to praise. He would have his charmingly eccentric best friend, in the best of moods, all to himself. It was one of the occasions John knew Sherlock was talking to him and not just talking at him like he was a replacement for the skull on the mantelpiece.

These increasingly occurring meals during cases were not like their post case dinners. For one thing, Sherlock would still refuse to eat because of his ridiculous notion that consuming food slowed down brainwork. The brilliant yet stupid git had admitted that eating helped John and other people’s thinking ability but still said he was exempt from the rule. Sherlock’s stubbornness had faltered lately though, and John had managed to force some of his meals into Sherlock. It was not much but it was progress. 

In these intra-case meals John felt that he was really cared for and needed by Sherlock. Sherlock might sit there sometimes, miles away immersed in his own mind and theories, but Sherlock had continuingly thought of him enough make time to do it while letting his best friend get something to eat, and would grudgingly eat something to please John as well. These meals were sometimes accompanied by a warmth in John’s gut, which he tried to quell by shoveling more food down his throat. He tried not to think about what this feeling towards Sherlock might mean for his sexuality.

The only thing John didn’t quite like about these intra-case meals was the effect he knew they were having on his weight. A proper amount of meals when you were eating a good portion of them out took its toll. John knew he ought to have gone on a diet before Sherlock’s thoughtfulness started, and he sure as hell needed one now. His belly was starting to jiggle for Christ’s sake. But John couldn’t bring himself to say no to Sherlock when he offered him a meal. ‘No’s were for when Sherlock said something socially unacceptable or was about to do something dangerous for himself or others. ‘No’s were for when Sherlock was about to run an experiment with a human head and gunpowder that could damage the flat. He couldn’t say no to something Sherlock was doing that was genuinely good. He didn’t want to discourage that rare behavior. 

So John continued letting Sherlock get him lunch on the house that day, not even getting the salad he had planned after Sherlock correctly deduced and ordered the double burger he knew John really wanted. John hated wasting food so he ate the whole thing; complete with most of the ridiculous portion of chips it came with. Sherlock was only cooperative enough to eat a third of the chips himself. 

It was a delicious burger topped with avocado and Swiss cheese, but John regretted his indulgence afterword. His bloated belly was taut and felt very uncomfortable. He could feel the waistband of the trousers, trousers that always used to need a belt digging into his sides as if they wanted to cut through him. He felt a great longing to undue his fly to release the pressure. 

Thankfully they only had to go to the lab afterwards and John didn’t have to do any running.


	5. Chapter 5

As much as he loved John’s growth, Sherlock had started to wonder if his plan was really a good idea after all. 

It wasn’t that John’s weight was getting in the way of his detective work. The doctor’s stamina had decreased, but prime physical fitness wasn’t needed to be the partner of a consulting detective. They only had to run after criminals in a small portion of cases, and John could still run at a decent enough speed if needed. He didn’t run quite as fast as he used to, but Sherlock thought he did a decent job at unnoticeably shifting to a slower stride around him.

The real problem was that John was now even more of a distraction to him sexually. For someone who had never before been a slave to his cock, and formerly spoke with distaste about sexual behavior, Sherlock’s cock was getting a lot of action as of late. With his hand, anyway. 

Even in the midst of an exciting case, Sherlock found himself jerking off in a bathroom stall, trying to get thoughts of John out of his system. John’s larger figure was becoming a large distraction to Sherlock’s mind. All it took was seeing John’s belly jiggle, which was becoming a common occurrence, and he was done for and had to stick his hand down his trousers. It was what normal, unintelligent males spent their time doing. He was supposed to be above that. 

The sexual frustration Sherlock experienced was becoming unbearable. He wanted to see his work firsthand, with John, stark naked, his plump body in front of Sherlock for him to fully observe. He wanted to touch John, kiss his lips and softened chin, dig his arms into John’s fleshy middle, nibble and pinch at the fat. The list went on. 

His mind should be completely focused on the work. Sherlock felt guilt for feeling these distracting feelings, much more guilt than he felt for his role in John’s weight gain itself.

So Sherlock lightened his role in John’s weight gain. If he led to John becoming obese, it would be really not good and he might never get any cases solved. He still took John out to eat frequently, but no longer picked out the most fattening establishments. He also stopped adding calorific supplements to John’s food and ended measures attempting to prevent John from noticing his weight gain. It was the only logical solution to preserve his sanity.

John was already a picture of perfection. His gain had slid from mainly his belly to his backside and thighs, creating a balanced, plump body. When in laughter, his whole middle shook. 

Sherlock figured John would be buying new clothes soon. The buttoned shirt he was wearing, which was one Sherlock had secretly replaced, was tight, the buttons struggling more then the buttons of Sherlock’s “awfully tight” shirts ever had. He would miss the view of John’s body the tight clothes provided.

Sherlock had tried to accept that John would start seriously dieting, undoing all of Sherlock’s hard work. He really had. But when John had come back from Tesco with nothing but skim milk and salad greens, Sherlock’s composure faltered. After John left for work the next day Sherlock burned all the leafy greens in a fiery rage.


	6. Chapter 6

When John’s last pair of sort-of fitting trousers wouldn’t close (The button had violently flung itself out of sight across the surgery’s bathroom), John carefully covered his fly with his jumper and jacket, and immediately went to purchase new ones. He went four sizes up from his old size to keep them a little baggy. How John had went four sizes up without hitting the sizes in between he had no idea. He picked out some new button down shirts as well. The red one he was wearing –which was oddly brighter than he remembered, was fitting him rather tightly.

John looked at Sherlock apprehensively as he entered the flat, two large shopping bags clutched tightly in his hands. He was clad in a dark pair of new trousers and a new jumper, physically comfortable for the first time in a while. 

He had been waiting for it for some time, for Sherlock to make some rude comment about his weight. The weight was indirectly Sherlock’s fault for treating him to lunches all the time, but John didn’t think that would stop him. Molly had only gained 2 bloody pounds and Sherlock had pointed it out.

He had at first taken Sherlock’s lack of commentary to mean that he really hadn’t gained that much and it wasn’t worthy of notice. Judging by their snide comments though, Sally and Anderson had definitely noticed, and they were far from the prowess of the most observant man in the world. 

Now that John had basically bought a whole new wardrobe, and Sherlock was in a nasty mood due to the lack of a case, he thought now would be the perfect time for Sherlock to strike.

Sherlock was lounging on the couch when John came in. It was six pm but the detective was still in his pajamas and blue dressing gown. Various science journals, and books on what seemed like random topics were strewn abandoned on the floor, one of which looked like one of Mrs. Hudson’s cookbooks.

Sherlock turned over on the couch to look at John, a crinkle forming between his brows as he seemed to look John over. Fuck. John braced himself for a long series of deductions on what he spent his day doing, including the button incident, and him pinching his flab and attempting to suck his now ample tummy in, taking an embarrassing amount of time by the dressing room mirror. 

If Sherlock did deduce these things, he didn’t say anything though, and instead asked if John happened to bring a case back with him. John’s stiff posture loosened. “I’m afraid not. No attempted murders at the surgery”, John said with a raise of his eyebrows. “That’s a shame.”, Sherlock replied. 

Sherlock had been taking a lot of cases lately but as always happened, the stream of cases of interest to him had run bare. John had thought Sherlock must have been bored to take their last case of an escaped rare tortoise. He had apparently moved up in the world slightly from an escaped rabbit. After one look in the decrepit old woman’s house though, Sherlock had found that her son had stolen and sold the valuable tortoise to help finance his gambling addiction. After the letdown that the case hadn’t led to some deeper black market scandal, Sherlock swore he wouldn’t settle for his next case to be anything less than a seven.

John stepped up the stairs to his bedroom, and went on to put his new wardrobe neatly away. As John folded up his new shirts and placed them in his drawer, he spied one he had kept from his army days in the very back. He brought the worn shirt back to his bed. Out of curiosity, he laid the old shirt on top of a similarly cut new one he had not yet folded. The increasing amount of fabric on the new one was staggering, dwarfing his Army shirt by comparison. John sighed, and hid the Army relic out of sight. 

There was really no denying it anymore; he had gotten fat. His Army self wouldn’t have even imagined himself letting go like this. His thighs were thicker than he remembered and his belly was decisively convex. Even his face was less defined. All because he liked food so much and just had to hog his face whenever Sherlock offered him any. Now the world could tell. This was the final straw, he decided. He had to make some changes.

John went downstairs to find Sherlock pacing around the sitting room. He was fiddling with his phone, evidently desperate for a text from Lestrade. He met John’s eyes briefly, and proceeded to showily throw his phone across the room. It met the ground with a clatter, cushioned only slightly by the magazine it landed on. John rolled his eyes, but said nothing on the matter. Of course Sherlock thought nothing of endangering his expensive phone. He would probably just use John’s phone if he busted his.

John sat in his armchair, and felt strangely aware of how his belly was touching his thighs. His new clothes did nothing to stop it. That feeling of warm surface against surface actually kind of felt nice, when he allowed himself to think about it. The flat was cold, and his belly added warmth to his thighs underneath. His added mass in general probably made him feel warmer. That part of this wasn’t that bad. Then John remembered that Sherlock was only a few feet from him and felt ashamed. He had to stop this.

John went to the fridge to fix himself a salad. He had bought a container of romaine lettuce and tomatoes the other day, and thought they would serve as a healthy, if boring meal. As he opened the fridge, the container of lettuce did not greet him, but a large pan of sausage stew in its place. The lettuce was nowhere to be found. John turned to Sherlock. “Sherlock, do you happen to know where the lettuce I bought went?”, John asked accusingly. 

“…Oh, that. I used it in an experiment testing the decay rate when exposed to certain chemicals”

“Right, and as usual you couldn’t be bothered to buy more to replace what I bought for myself.”

“I felt a bit guilty that we had nothing else in the fridge afterward, so I had Mrs. Hudson bake something, as you can see.”

John sighed.“ You couldn’t be bothered to walk a block to go to Tesco, so you had poor Mrs. Hudson bake something.”

“She didn’t mind. She likes baking for us. If you don’t want it we can go out.”

John felt anger festering within him. Here he was, trying to diet so Sherlock wouldn’t have a fat ass as a partner, and Sherlock’s ways were thwarting his efforts. “No I cannot just go out to eat! Don’t you think I’m fucking fat enough as it is?!”

Sherlock stared at John for a moment, eyes wide. “I don’t see a problem.”, Sherlock replied softly.

“The problem is I keep eating all this delicious, unhealthy takeaway, and am becoming increasingly disgustingly fat and unattractive as result.”

“That’s false. You can’t really believe that about yourself, can you?”

“Really, Sherlock Holmes can’t see how much weight I’ve gained? Sure.”

“No, John, I’m not disputing that you’ve gained weight. That is obvious, so I didn’t bother to point it out. You are not and never have been disgusting or unattractive. Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot and must be blind.”

“…You think I’m attractive then? Even now?”, John asks. The two had moved within a foot of each other and stood face to face.

The words leave Sherlock’s mouth before he can think about them. “Especially now.”

Then Sherlock's lips met John's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get a bit more kinky after this, with feeding and a bit more weight gain(my weird kind of kinky). If you are not into that, and think John's weight gain has gone far enough, let me know and I will also write a reasonable alternate ending.


	7. Chapter 7

John wasn’t sure who leaned in first. All he knew was that his lips were crushed against Sherlock’s and it was glorious. Sherlock’s tongue had hungrily entered his mouth, lapping against his own while they leaned against each other. Sherlock’s arms circled John, running his hands repeatedly down John’s soft sides in a caress. 

They ended up on the couch, holding each other while they kissed. John felt stubble rubbing against his cheek, something he had never experienced during a kiss before. Despite how foreign it was, it wasn’t a bad sensation. Not at all. John’s head bobbed lower and kissed down Sherlock’s neck and prominent collarbone. The detective moaned softly in result, squeezing harder at John’s sides.

Sherlock continually dexterously massaged John’s sides and now belly, so the point where John paused to shrug off his jumper so he could more strongly feel the sensation. He really wondered if Sherlock had had to learn massage therapy for a case of some sort. John shrugged the jumper over his belly and arms, leaving it to rest on the floor. 

Looking down, John immediately caught sight of his girth; so different from the thin body he had just kissed. He could not even see the fly of his jeans under the hang of his gut.

“You like this? Really?”, John asked, grabbing a handful of his now exposed belly. John was still breathing hard, but disbelief shone in his face.

“Yes, really.”, Sherlock replied, and went on to run his hands over the curve of John’s belly, squeezing when his hands traveled to John’s love handles. John whimpered and felt his cock twitch. How could having your flat-mate touch the parts of yourself you felt most insecure about be so damn arousing?  
~  
They ended up having a late dinner of Mrs. Hudson’s stew, both of them eating a fair share of it, and John, not even feeling self-conscious about it, ate a great deal more. The stew, as was all of Mrs. Hudson’s cooking, was delicious after all, and certain activities he and Sherlock had engaged in earlier had made him very hungry. How Sherlock was looking at him only made him want to eat more. Now that he noticed, watching him eat clearly excited Sherlock. There was an unmistakable red pallor to his cheeks, and John swore he saw another erection stirring through Sherlock’s trousers. 

Simply his unrestrained consumption was arousing Sherlock. John was happy enough continue pleasing him and forked the rest of his stew into his mouth in generous mouthfuls, chewing slowly to savor the flavor. His belly had expanded as consequence of the large meal, and John had parted his thighs to make room, his belly resting comfortably between his thighs.

“There is sauce on your left cheek.”, Sherlock remarked suddenly.

John picked up his napkin, and dabbed at his cheek. “Got it?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. Its nearer to your mouth.”

John brushed his cheek with the napkin again, scrubbing to the left of his mouth. “Is it gone?”

Instead of answering, Sherlock left his seat opposite John, moving to stand next to John’s seat. He bent over and licked the sauce away from John’s face, proceeding to softly kiss him before returning to his seat. 

Sherlock smirked. “Its gone now.”

As Sherlock poured the remains of the stew on John’s plate for a rather large third helping, John had a realization. “Sherlock you…you’ve. All those restaurants you’ve been taking me to during cases, all the food around the flat. You were trying to fatten me up!”, John exclaimed.

“Just trying?”, Sherlock remarked. Then, realizing he probably shouldn’t have said that, Sherlock looked away, his cheeks reddening. John found Sherlock’s blushing oddly adorable, and even more oddly, did not feel angry with him.

“Succeeded.”, John sighed, clapping a hand over his gut. “But couldn’t have succeeded without a willing participant. I ate those huge meals myself, thank you very much.”

Sherlock smiled slightly, a perplexed look remaining in his eyes. “That you did.”

John leaned back in his chair, a hand still resting on his distended belly. “Don’t think I can eat any more of this though. I’ve been full a lot lately, but not quite this full.”

“I could feed you.”

The possibility sent a tingle down John’s spine. “Yes. Just rub too please.”, John breathed, pointing to his belly.

Sherlock lifted forkful after forkful of stew to John’s waiting mouth. In between bites, he massaged John’s belly with his hands, easing the emerging pain of fullness. Those long fingers felt perfect gliding along John’s full stomach.  
~  
John lay awake in Sherlock’s bed at three in the morning, his flat-mate still fast asleep beside him. An arm was protectively perched over John’s bloated belly, prohibiting him from moving.

John could not seem to fall back asleep and took this time to reflect over what had happened. What had he done? John Watson’s life with his eccentric flat-mate had just gotten even more bizarre.

Just the prior afternoon he could have swore he was straight and was convinced he wanted to lose weight. Yet he had gone on to not only fuck, but erotically eat with his flat-mate, consuming more stew than anyone had the right too. And he had enjoyed every ridiculous minute of it. 

John sighed and rubbed his hand through Sherlock’s messy mop of brown curls, unable to resist twirling one with his finger. He had wanted to do that for a long time, he realized. 

Sherlock was breathing softly, not a hint of a snore escaping his pursed lips. He looked so peaceful and innocent in his sleep, seeming nothing like the manipulative, rude devil he often was awake. John had seen a lot of different sides of Sherlock lately. 

Before last night, John was driven to think that Sherlock was the rare celibate, yearning for nothing but interesting cases. Who would have thought that he was also capable of lusting after less than interesting, plump ex-army doctors? It was as much as a mystery as why he himself had a thing for this rude, arrogantly brilliant man, despite liking nothing but women beforehand.

The why didn’t matter though. This night with Sherlock was brilliant, in a different kind of brilliance that John didn’t know he would be able to associate with Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very happy with this chapter, but I knew if I kept editing it, it would never get posted. First romantic scenes are hard ahhhh. The next chapter will be up tomorrow and is one I am much more happy with.
> 
> Thanks for all your opinions! Since no one is opposed to feeding and more weight gain for John, I'm just going to keep going with that plot. There will be two separate epilogues though, one of which might have John going in a slightly healthier direction.


	8. Chapter 8

John’s happiness and how much he ate were positively correlated. John was skinny and depressed before he met Sherlock, and after meeting Sherlock he was happier and ate more, gaining weight as result. Post the evolution of their relationship, John was now both the fattest and happiest he had ever been. 

With Sherlock’s no longer secret assistance, John had gained even more girth and had just went up another trouser size. He didn’t even mind. Every downward glance at his substantial belly reminded him of what he and Sherlock had together. Sherlock added excitement and adventure back into his life, and they now held a passionate relationship that rivaled any relationship John had ever had before. As his former muscular physique told of his time in the army, his current plump form came to signify his current relationship with Sherlock. Both were different, and suited to the time. 

Sherlock liked feeding him, and John liked being fed. He was now both very well fed and well sexed. His rounded form showed as much, John thought, as he caught himself in the bathroom mirror. There was dried semen on the lower part of his belly from the prior night. He held the flab up with his right hand and ran a damp washcloth over it. 

His bloated profile still exhibited the side effects of last night’s sex/meal. It was weird how both of those pleasure-inducing activities, formerly in different categories, now often came together. 

Sherlock had gotten takeaway of John’s favorite ravioli from Angelo’s, and fed it to him on John’s bed, while John lounged in nothing put his pants. Sherlock had eaten a reasonable amount himself beforehand in order to gain the privilege.

John’s portion was triple the amount he would have made for himself, but as Sherlock continually placed the raviolis into John’s mouth, John couldn’t resist devouring all of it. He ate the cheesy ravioli in eager bites from Sherlock’s fork, relishing not only the ravioli but also the aroused look on Sherlock’s face. John was certain that none but him had ever seen that expression from Sherlock. And no one else ever would, John thought, as he swallowed the last forkful. 

In the wake of his finished meal, John intently licked at the stray sauce around his mouth. He licked as if he wanted nothing more than to taste every last bit of flavor, bringing an even more lustful expression to Sherlock’s face. Truthfully, he was stuffed. Now that Sherlock was physically inserting food in his mouth instead of just giving him access to it, John truly couldn’t stop from gorging himself. 

Sherlock had rewarded John for that night’s overindulgence with tender kisses to his mouth and taut belly, licking away tomato sauce from both areas. “I’m going to need to get you a bib”, Sherlock said chidingly. 

“You are the one feeding me. You ought to be more careful next time.”, John challenged, crossing his plump arms. 

Sherlock glared at him and slid off the bed, exiting the room. John sighed, a hand rubbing his own aching belly. He lay, confused. Sherlock had gotten childishly upset, even for him. He had been looking forward to their usual post feeding sex.

John was closing his eyes, intent to sleep off the night’s gluttony, when he heard steps back up the stairs. Sherlock had returned about a half hour later, and with him he was carrying something on a big china plate. As Sherlock moved closer, John could see it was a hearty looking pie, browned dough neatly crossing the top. The pie’s tart aroma filled the air, slightly taunting him despite his fullness. John might have refused pie directly after that huge meal, but now he had some room. Sherlock had waited till he digested and wouldn’t refuse. The git. 

Sherlock answered John’s unvoiced questions. “Its peach. Mrs. Hudson had just baked it.”

“Jesus, again? Does Mrs. Hudson like me fat too?”

“She did say our relationship had been treating you well lately, but when I remarked our lack of sweets, she baked a pie with fruit. She’s not adverse, but thinks our relationship may be treating you a little too well.”

“Okay, I can agree with that. I have gained around a stone”

“You have gained three and a half times that.”, Sherlock corrected. 

John blushed and shook his head. “I mean since we’ve started, you know, this.”, John said, motioning from the pie and Sherlock to his belly.”

Sherlock nodded in understanding. “ A stone and a half.”, Sherlock adjusted. There was an unmistakable air of satisfaction to his voice.

John raised his eyebrows and was about to disagree, but realized that knowing Sherlock, he was right. If his clothes and reflection were indication, he had ballooned in the past few weeks of their relationship. He felt especially massive at the moment, his distended gut creating a bulky hill in front of his face as he lay.

Sherlock cut a slice of the pie, and from the box carefully guided sections of pie into John’s mouth. The pie was succulent, and not overly sweet, just the way John liked it. John obediently ate bite after bite, feeling his belly continue to swell as result. 

After numerous bites, the pain of fullness returned to John’s stomach, and he declared himself done, raising a hand to block Sherlock’s pie filled fork.

Sherlock pouted and urged him forward, telling him it was only four bites more to finishing his third slice. John relented and let Sherlock put the fork into his mouth. He coaxed the remainder of the slice between John’s thin lips, rubbing soothing circles into John’s to belly so he felt more comfortable. 

John had put his hand to Sherlock’s trousers, wondering if Sherlock was anywhere as hard as he was at the moment. He didn’t know how it was possible, but Sherlock seemed even harder.  
~  
They lay against each other, breathing heavily, Sherlock’s thin body against John’s thicker one. Sherlock had given John quite the brilliant blowjob, filling his mouth to the brim with John’s member as Sherlock had filled John with food.


	9. Epilogue #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I have written this, I do not endorse getting really fat. It is bad for your health.

It had started that first day in the kitchen, after the cuddling and kissing. Sherlock had started feeding John then, coaxing food between John’s thin lips, and it had become almost ritual for them since. Between cases, and even when they had time during cases, Sherlock would get John meals and feed it to John until he was satisfied, or when he was in the mood, bursting. 

Sherlock would sometimes require use of John’s belly to think and would absently rub it in thought, sometimes using it as a pillow, hands clasped atop. Use of his fat gut was apparently the new replacement to Sherlock’s nicotine patches. 

John undoubtedly enjoyed being fed and touched, and got an odd thrill every time he took notice of how much weight he had gained. Whether it was new girth popping the button of formerly loose fitting trousers or noticing how much his ass had expanded from the amount of space he now took up of his armchair, warmth radiated inside him. Sherlock praising him as “brilliant”, or “fantastic” every time he gorged himself or got fatter wasn’t helping matters. He was getting huge, and he knew the detective took notice of every pound accumulating on his frame. The man was so observant that even two pounds wouldn’t go amiss after all. He always knew exactly where the doctor had gained it, and would point it out, playfully grabbing a handful of flab. 

Since he found out Sherlock liked the weight on him, the guilt he felt for gaining it had immediately dissipated, and he allowed himself to enjoy it. Oh god, yes, he enjoyed it. The fat was remarkably pleasurable to play with and squeeze, even more so as he grew larger. When Sherlock was doing the squeezing it was erection inducing. He always felt warm in the cold London air, and every chair had become more comfortable with his body’s cushioning. One of the best perks, he could eat whatever he wanted, in quantities that he could not even imagine before. Due to his expanding capacity, he could now have a full English breakfast, multiple sandwiches for lunch, and a rich dinner at Angelo’s complete with several pieces of dessert, and never feel uncomfortably full. 

He went on to taste and polish off Angelo’s entire menu selection over visits and tried more food around London than ever before. He even started a food blog that ran parallel the one on Sherlock’s cases to document his meals. Sherlock insulted his grammar, word choice, and sensationalism on the new blog too. He had just scoffed at John’s newest entry where John had described a Tai noodle dish’s taste as, “like heaven exploded in my mouth”. “Cooking is a science John, you ought to be describing the combination of ingredients and their effect on the human tongue’s taste buds. Heaven does not have a taste.”, he said, shaking his head. Afterwards, Sherlock fed an entire pie to John, telling him how the calories would me converted to fat and how much weight he would likely gain from this. John was a doctor and already knew how calories were converted to fat, but he had no idea how much weight he would gain from everything he ate. John thought Sherlock was getting more knowledgeable on the subject just from observing him. Whether it was partly an experiment to Sherlock or not(it probably was), Sherlock was certainly aroused by it all.

As much as the situation was completely consensual, John hadn’t agreed to continue gaining without a catch. He had to see a reasonable portion of food go down Sherlock’s throat at mealtimes before he ate himself. 

It was the only thing that had actually worked to make Sherlock eat consistently. Sherlock would eat time and time again, at regular intervals to see that John continued eating his fill. Sherlock wasn’t nearly as sticklike, which was good in comparison to John’s increasingly round body. He didn’t like bones digging into his flab. Sherlock would especially eat a lot between cases. He would consume snack after snack, before “tempting” John with the rest of each one. It was becoming almost a rule with them, Sherlock eating some of something, John eating the rest. Sherlock feigned reluctance each time he ate, but John had the feeling he was starting to enjoy it, especially the sweets, which Sherlock had always favored. Gradually the detective himself began to fill out. His cheekbones became less glass-cuttingly prominent and his stomach went from practically concave to having a little of a belly. 

Sherlock finally had to replace the tight, buttoned shirts he always wore. John bought him a replacement for his purple shirt himself. It was still deliciously tight, just not so tight as before when John feared it would cut off the detective’s circulation.

John grew a distinctly overfed physique as result of all the eating he was doing with Sherlock. It got to the point where he didn’t mind Sherlock paying to replace the clothes he was rapidly spilling out of. While the weight rested on John’s body, it was between the both of them. John also grew a mustache to accompany his girth. It was originally part of a disguise for a case, but John thought the stash suited him. He waddled after Sherlock in cases, the tall, no longer skinny detective still always accompanied by his short, now rotund companion. John was never bored, or hungry.


End file.
